


Through Thick and Thin

by Soupernabturel



Series: Service & Mastery [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Aristocrate Dean, Bottom Castiel, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Great Depression, Hidden Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Long Distance Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Linear Narrative, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Servant Castiel, Teacher Castiel, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-01 21:19:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5221184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soupernabturel/pseuds/Soupernabturel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Timestamps set before, during and after the Service and Mastery Verse.</p><p>Each chapter is a timestamp, they'll vary in length and I'll try to post them in chronological order. Individual tags will be in the notes of each installment, as well as individual summaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Time Line of the Verse (Spoilers!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is the timeline of the whole verse, I will omit some parts until I reach that point in the story (cos I don't want to give too much away) but here is the chronology of what I have written thus far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential spoilers for the verse, ye have been warned.

 

 **1912:** | Dean (13) Castiel (14) 

 Chp 1: _At Your Service_

 

 **1914-1918:** | Dean (15-20) Castiel (16-21) 

 The Great War (World War One) begins

 

 **1916:** | Castiel (18) Dean (17)

Castiel is conscripted to fight in the English army.

Dean is left behind in England. 

 

 **1917:**   | Castiel (19-20) Dean (18-19)

Dean joins up for the army (not conscripted due to his social status, even then he is sent to a much better/healthier location).

Castiel is fighting on the French battlements in the trenches (the Battle of Somme)

 

 **1918:** | Castiel (21) Dean (20)

 _(Timestamp #1)_ The Great War (WWI) ends.

Castiel and Dean both return to the Abbey

 

 **1921-1922:**  | Castiel (22-23) Dean (21-22)

Dean and his family spend six months in America.

 

 **1922:**  | Castiel (24) Dean (23)

 _(_ _Beck and Call)_ **  
**

 

 **1923:** | Castiel (25) Dean (24)

_(Beck and Call epilogue)_

_(Upstairs Downstairs)_

 

 **1925:** |Castiel (27) Dean (26)

  _(At Your Service)_

 _(Time stamp #2)_ Dean and Castiel meet Miss Charlotte (Charlie) Bradbury 

Dean proposes to Charlie

 

 **1926:** | Castiel (27) Dean (26)

Dean and Charlie's (23) wedding. 

(Timestamp #3)

Afterwards, Castiel goes travelling with Sam (22).

 

 **1927:** | Castiel (28) Dean (27)

 _(Right Hand Man)_  

 

 **1928:** | Castiel (29) Dean (28)

 (Timestamp #4)

 

 **1929-1939:** **|** Castiel (30-40) Dean (29-39)

The Great Depression.  

(Timestamp #5)

 

 **1939-1945:** **|** Castiel (40-  ) Dean (39-  )

 World War Two. 

_(By Your Side)_

\----- 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued (dun dun dun)
> 
> Also until I was writing this verse I had no idea such world-changing events all happened in such a small period of time, Jesus...


	2. Timestamp #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **1918:** With the end of the Great War, the world is eager for things to return to 'normal'.
> 
> Yet the war has lingering effects, especially for those who fought in it.
> 
>  
> 
>  **Tags:** War, slight body horror, angst, hurt/comfort, PTSD

“It is about time we brought the house back to the proper standard.”

 

Though there was an authority to his words, Robert Singer spoke with a bone aching weariness, one that was mimicked by the upper tier (himself, Mrs Harvelle and Miss Mills) sitting quietly in the servants hall, late that evening.

 

Castiel sat at the opposite end of the table from them, as was his place as the second footman. Tired beyond exhaustion, he could barely keep his eyes open, the cup of tea before him was stone cold now.

 

He'd only been back in England a few short weeks. A few weeks since the war had ended and now all the boys were coming home, to a world far different than the one they left.

 

The Great war had left nothing but sorrow and tribulation, a world in decimation.

 

It had been so long since people had talked about the future outside of the context of 'when the war ends'. It had become commonplace to never plan longer than the next day. Castiel himself hadn't thought about it. Not when he was in the trenches in the muck and the blood and the crying of men shaking beyond all control, and not when he was on the boat back home.

 

Even now he was only going through the motions, his mind distracted from his tasks. Sometimes Castiel was so angry with it all. The war, its point. He'd grown so angry over the last few year that sometimes he felt his entire body shake with the force of it. Even the everyday babble (pretending that the war had never happened) drove him to distraction, he listen to them, men who had never been to the front, seen and done what he had and his fists would shake so hard by his sides that he would want to hit something. So angry that all he wanted to do was break his servants facade and scream, because no, nothing could return to 'normal'. Normal was so far removed from the current reality Castiel wanted to scream out into the world and ask it 'what was the point?'

 

The death the destruction, the fear. What had it all been for?

 

Across the table, Mrs Harvelle looked up from her needlepoint and spoke softly. “I'm sure you can agree Mr Singer that we've all had larger concerns.”

  
  
“Yes,” said Singer grimly. “Yes. We have.”

 

“Though it is better now,” interjected Miss Mills, entering the hall, tea in hand. She sat down at the table with an 'oof' and a great sigh. It was quite possibly the first time she had had the moment to sit down all day, he feet and back probably ached from the long day in the kitchen. “Easier that things can return to normal, I know my girls have been breaking their backs trying to maintain standards.”

 

“I'm perplexed as to what you think normal could be Miss Mills,” said Ellen primly.

 

  
Jody Mills pursed her lips, tea cup pressed against the lower. “I suppose that, with so many young men sent off to the fields, it's nice to have a full house again.”

 

“Well, we all must do our part for the effort,” said Singer at the same time Mrs Harvelle murmured; “those poor souls.”

 

“They fought for their king, for us.” Singer said gravely, “We will always remember them.”

 

Castiel sat at the table the paper before him long forgotten, if anyone were to look at him they'd think him staring at the knots in the table rather queer. His hands clenched down by his sides.

 

“Castiel?”

 

A voice like a gunshot broke through to him.

 

Castiel shot up in his seat, blinking the glaze from over his eyes.

 

Singer was watching him from the head of the table, his inventory list before him, the scrawl lit by low light. “Retire boy, you look dead on your feet.”

 

_Dead on your feet._

 

“Of course Mr Singer,” Castiel said and got up from the table.

 

He would have left the hall then, but someone was standing in the door to the servants hall. Dean was there, clad in nothing but thin fleece pyjamas and an open robe.

 

“Oh!” Miss Mills said, rising from her seat, Mrs Harvelle, and Singer rose also, faces twisted in worry.

 

Castiel stepped forward without thinking and placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, all of his own concerns and thoughts drained from him in an instant. Dean tensed at the touch, shoulders hitched up to his ears before he looked up and saw it was Castiel. He was a mess, his hair dishevelled and flat on one side, eyes red-rimmed and watery.

 

He looked far younger than his eighteen years, and yet twice as old.

 

“My'lord?” Castiel asked and did not get the chance to ask anything more.

 

He became enveloped in a tight embrace. Dean was breathing into his hair as his arms looped around Castiel's back pressing him close to his chest. Hearing his heartbeat, and having the young lords arms around him, his clean soapy smell Castiel forgot his surroundings and fell into him.

 

“Cas,” Dean said brokenly, “I thought you- you-”

 

"You're crying," Castiel whispered. Aware of eyes on him, and the intimacy of their hold on each other, he pulled back but couldn't bring himself to move back to the respectable amount of distance between them. Dean was here- Dean was hurting.

 

"I'm alright," Dean lied, "just a bad dream and I can't-"

 

"Dean," said Castiel, unconvinced.

 

Dean slid one hand into his hair and pulled unkindly at it. “I can't fucking sleep with all this noise.”

 

The abbey was silent as it would be at this hour. The Western Front however, had reverberated with the noise of war. Each of the weapons had a distinctive sound which was mixed with the shouting of orders, whistles and the cries of wounded men, the perpetual rumble of distant detonation.

 

“Dean this is hardly the place,” said Castiel, casting a pointed look over his shoulder, both Miss Mills and Mrs Harvelle were still standing, watching the two of them. Mr Singer now sat at the table, his brows furrowed down over his eyelids.

 

“You shouldn't be here.” Castiel said to Dean.  


 

“Castiel?” Mr Singer said. His voice made Dean blink with red eyes, and glance over to their audience.

 

Castiel spoke with his heart in his throat. “Mr Singer excuse m-”

 

“You're excused.” Mrs Harvelle said, her face screwed up in worry.

 

Castiel waited a moment for Singers permission, when he met no rebuttal he took Dean gently by the arm and led him back upstairs. None of the upper teir of servants said anything, to bring any attention to Dean's lapse of judgement, his pain would be shameful.

 

Dean barely seemed aware of them moving. He shuffled along Castiel leading him, as though a child being led to school. Dean had arrived a week behind Castiel from active duty, as the last to be deployed were the last to come home.

 

Once they were in Dean's bedroom, with the door closed, Castiel said, “oh, Dean.” and took his face in his hands, kissing first his forehead then his cheek.

 

“I'm so tired Cas,” Dean said, eyes closed leaning forward into each gentle kiss. “I just want sleep why can't I sleep?”

 

Castiel took him to his bed and sat him down, he removed the robe from Dean's shoulders, rubbing gentle circles into Dean's back.

 

Dean sat on the bed, every muscle in him a tangled jumble. “I can't- I can't stop thinking. Just thinking it's all up here and I can't-”

 

“Dean look at me,” Castiel said, caressing the side of Dean's head he turned it to him.

 

“Breathe in with my hand,” he said and put a hand to the centre of Dean's chest. He pushed gently forward. Dean took a shaky yet deep inhale, breathing in with the movements of Castiel's hand.

 

“and Exhale.” Castiel said, and slowly drew his hand back.

 

They did this for a few moments, Dean following the press and release of Castiel's hand each breath getting steadier.

 

“Do you wish to talk about it?” asked Castiel when he felt Dean composed enough. "Your dreams"

 

"They're always the same," Dean answered, "the gas is coming, crawling over the ground it's after me. So I run, out into no-mans land. All around me men are falling and dying, bits of them dropping off into the mud an' I can smell everything, the death and the rot." He rubbed a hand over his face, pinching the skin between his eyebrows. "So of course I fall into the mud but s'not mud anymore, it's people- it's blood and it's horrid and I start to sink and there's other men stuck in it too, but they ain't right. They're all dead and rotten, their hands reaching out for me, pulling at me uniform. What was it even for Cas?”

 

Dean finished on a rush, a tear slipped down his cheek and he brushed it away with a rough hand, “We didn't _win_ anything, and lost so much.”

 

Castiel's chest con-caved with the weight of his emotions. He dragged Dean into his side, an arm around the aristocrats waist, pressing them tight together.

 

“Forgive me,” Dean sniffed and rubbed a hand across his eyes. “that was childish and self important-”

 

Castiel grabbed Dean's hand and dragged it onto his lap, intertwining their fingers.

 

“You Dean Winchester are the most selfless person I know,” when he spoke Dean made a move to look away, but Castiel pulled his attention back with a blue-eyed stare of his own. “For you to be self-important for one moment is only so much as you have earned.”

 

Dean sniffed again. “D'ya think the dreams will ever stop?"

  


"Eventually," Castiel said, hoping his own disbelief wasn't showing on his face. "It'll get better, but the memories may always be there." He ran his fingers up and down Dean's spine.

 

“But you are home now Dean, you are here,” Castiel told him. “And I shall remain by your side as long as you'll have me.”

 

Dean smiled, a smile that looked strangely sad and he pulled Castiel closer beside him on the bed.

 

“Dean-” Castiel said softly. A kiss was pressed to his hand, his cheek, the corner of his lips. “You know I cannot.”

 

“I do not know.” Dean said, and kissed the bolt of Castiel's jaw. There was no heat behind it, just a simple press of lips to skin. He was trying to fully press himself to Cas and touch every inch of his life-warmed skin.

 

Castiel recognised the affection for what it was, Dean fighting against his own fear.

 

He did not want to sleep alone.  
  


“Dean.” Castiel said again, this time sadly. “I can stay until you fall asleep, but I cannot be here in the morning.”

 

“M'not asking you to.” Dean murmured.

 

But every other aspect of Dean apart from his voice was asking him to.

 

Castiel pressed a hand to Dean's chest, pressing him down to the covers. A little heat flicked in Dean's eyes but it was washed away by his outward exhaustion. Castiel did not pressure him, he patted Dean's chest, smoothing down the thin white material on his night clothes.

 

“Lie down Dean,” he said, and pulled the blankets up over the lord before he slid across and laid beside him, above the covers. ”Close your eyes,” he said and Dean did.

 

Lying in bed with Dean, having the lords arms wrapped around him and his body pressed tight behind his own, Castiel asked God to answer him, as he had every single day he'd been on the front. A pray sent out asking for forgiveness, asking why. Lying and doing so with Dean now was a far-cry from looking up to the night sky, trying to drown out the war and his country-men, as he said his prayers in his head, asking God if the war was a punishment, a punishment for them all.

 

When Dean was deep asleep, Castiel crept from his room and back to his own in the servants quarters.

 

He was alone. There was no one to fend off his nightmares about the trenches, nothing to keep his mind off of his memories. And yet he knew, that if he had ever had a chance at happiness then it was with the man at the opposite side of the house, who's lips parted as he slept and made soft breathy sounds.

 

Castiel knew, that he would wake up ten years from now, twenty and still feel like that, still love Dean with all his heart, still remember exactly how his face looked and how it felt to kiss him.

 

It seemed like the war would never be over, but Dean's love did help to keep the memories at bay, at least for a little while.

 

 


	3. Timestamp #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **1925:** First impressions are extremely important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **No warnings**

“Stop it,” hissed Charlie. “You're making me nervous.”

 

“He should be here,” Dean replied. Then chastised himself, muttering; “Of course he doesn't want to come, dammit.”

 

“You flatter me,” said Charlie dryly, with only the tiniest touch of humour to her voice, revealing her nerves. Dean watched as she flattened the front of her skirts for the fifth time before curling her hands back in her lap. “I know it may seem foreign to you Dean, but perhaps he is simply running late?”

 

“Cas doesn't run late,” Dean answered. “He just appears, exactly where he wants to at exactly when he wants to.”

 

Charlie rolled her eyes, for she knew she could with Dean.

 

Dean had always liked this pub, a little out of the way in Thirsk, the old furniture the smell, natural and real and a little gritty, cigarette smoke and a deep masculine smell that somehow was comforting. It was hardly the place for a lady, but Charlie was no normal lady.

 

A chill wind whipped through the pub, the sounds of the outside world flooded in. Dean shifted in his seat and looked over his shoulder, to the entryway of the pub-

 

It was Cas, lovely, perfect Cas. He strode through the pubs doorway looking quite unsure of what to do next, and a little rumpled in his overly large tweed jacket and fraying slacks. He clutched his cap to his chest, and his fire-blue eyes grew wide when he caught sight of Dean and Charlie sitting next to each other at a small table not so far away.

 

He approached. Charlie was flushed, she looked to Cas as though (for the first time) unsure of what to say or do. She adjusted her peacoat a little better around her throat. Dean got up out of his seat and pulled out a chair for Cas.

 

“I apologise.” Cas said loudly on an exhale. ”Garth tried to fix one of Lord Sam's jackets with Papoid and Soda Tablets, which-of course-only spread the stain out worse.” Remembering himself Cas straightened in his seat. His eyes widened a little further as he fully took Charlie in. He tilted his head, and Dean nodded in confirmation.

 

“I thought it about time the two of you were acquainted.” said Dean.

 

Castiel didn't speak.

 

Charlie just smiled a simple smile and extended her hand for Castiel to shake. Castiel did so, though it was slow- he seemed staggered by her mere presence as the two of them had never had any cause to meet. Charlie was Dean's betrothed, and Castiel his valet, rarely did such circles cross before the wedding day.

 

“Charlotte Bradbury-” she introduced, words a little fast. ”Well-Charlotte _Winchester_ now I suppose.” 

 

Cas' jaw moved in a strange motion, as if he were grinding his teeth together. He looked away from Charlie and Dean, and looked down at the tabletop, his hand quickly folded back into his lap.

 

Charlie's hand hung in the air a second before she sat on it, cheeks as red as her hair. “I'm sorry!” she blurted out. “That was indelicate of me.” 

 

Dean extended a hand out and touched Castiel's knee, just for a moment, a gentle prod- the most he could do in public. A small 'hello'.

 

“Perhaps the three of us should get some drinks.” Castiel said, he spread his legs a little apart, pushing into the gentle press of Dean's fingers. 'Hello'.

 

 

They both quickly moved from each other when a stumbling drunkard rose from his table, laughing and jesting, across the other side of the pub. 

 

“I feel as though alcohol can only make this meeting easier.”

 

A stab of guilt ran through Dean as he considered just how uncomfortable Cas was, and just how true it was that Castiel would do anything for him, if Dean just asked him

 

Christ. He felt like a bastard.

 

“Four,” Charlie corrected. “Glinda should be here soon.”

 

Another stab. Dean had forgotten entirely about Glinda, who had yet to show. If they were to make this situation work- had any hope of each being as happy and content as they possibly could, the four of them needed to meet, to discuss and strategise.

 

Glinda needed to be here for it, if not for her own sake than for Charlie's.

 

“Then we shall stay.” Cas said, easing back a little into his seat.

 

Dean looked at the floor to keep from looking at him. He prayed to God that Castiel would be understanding and open to the ideas he and Charlie had discussed in the limited time together they had unchaperoned.

 

_ You don't deserve his understanding,  _ a voice hissed in Dean's ear.  _ You don't deserve him, he's too good for you. He loves you with all his heart and what do you do? Propose marriage to another, intend to make love to another. _

 

Drained of all colour, Dean motioned for two beers to a passing tender.

 

There was nothing but uncomfortable silence.

 

  
Castiel seemed to be sizing Charlie up while Charlie stared forlornly at the door, twisting her hands about in her lap.

 

“So...” Castiel began, paused, then cleared his throat. “Miss Glinda is your-”

 

“My lover.” said Charlie quietly to the pub, but between the three of them her words reverberated.

 

Ale dribbled down Castiel's chin. Dean would have laughed, he almost did, but the sound got caught around the lump in his throat and came out as more of a choke.

 

Charlie watched in mild amusement as Castiel collected himself. His brow was crinkled with confusion, lips parted as though he had the thought to ask if such a thing were  _ possible. _

 

“Well that's,” Cas was struggling to scrounge up anything to say. Charlie raised one delicate brow but said nothing. Dean hid his smiled behind his next mouthful. When he and Cas were together alone they set the pace of their own conversations. Here and now Castiel was sweatting bullets as if he were being interrogated by the police.

 

The complete opposite from a heavy drinker, Castiel took his glass in hand and consumed the whole thing in a few deep pulls. Suddenly realising his actions he flushed, and raked a hand through his perfectly messy hair.

 

  
“When Dean told me...that, I must admit I had my doubts.” he said.

 

Charlie smiled, an edge of teasing to it. “ Surely you know that men and women are made of the same stuff, each woven from the same fibre, and so we have the same appetites.” 

 

Did actually did laugh then, a small hiccup of a sound. Charlie kicked him under the table and Castiel looked as though his entire world had been irreversibly turned over. 

 

“Apologies,” he managed, voice rough like Hessian. “I am fairly unfamiliar with the appetites of women.”

 

The laugh that shook out of Charlie was heartfelt, she giggled, then covered her mouth a little to muffle the sound in polite company.

 

“My god,” she said, grinning at Dean, “he's a comedian.”

 

Cas took a steady sip of his pint and said nothing.

 

But he gripped Dean's hand under the table, the sturdy hold of a middle-class man, a soldier. Dean took refuge in such a gesture, in his affection.

 

How he needed that affection.

 

“You make that sound like the plague.” said Dean.

 

“Your father would have dubbed it so. He's not a very humorous man.”

 

It was very rare that Cas spoke anything about Jonathan Winchester outside of 'of course your Lordship,' and ' yes your lordship'. It was strange that Castiel had known John Winchester for so many years, had lived in his home for most of his life, and yet the two barely knew each other.

 

Or at least, John barely knew Cas.

 

Cas' humour was strange and as dry as course sand. Sometimes his quips even went over Dean's head.

 

“I suppose that this is proof then?” said Charlie with no small hint of delight.

 

“Proof?” asked Castiel.

  
  
“That the opposite dispositions truly do attract one another.”

 

Castiel flushed and hid a smile behind his glass.  
  


 

Dean felt a swoop in his stomach and gulped at his drink to try and calm it. “Cor Charlie,” he said, “are you saying I'm not funny?”

 

“You believe you are” Charlie and Cas said at the same time, then looked at each other with a smile.

 

Dean watched the both of them, casting brief smiles to each other, and something tight in his gut eased.

 

The evening loosened after that. Castiel eased back in his seat, Charlie sat forward in hers, talking animatedly about the upcoming women's rally when conversation (much to Dean's surprise) drifted around and then delved into socialism.

 

Trust Dean to fall in love with, and marry a pair of socialists.

  
  
Dean was unsure of whether it was intentional to keep the conversation light, but it was. They did not talk about the wedding, no mention of Dean and Charlie being anything toward each other apart from good friends. But the truth of the matter did hang over them, lengthening the silences, pursing lips.

 

Every so often Charlie would look to the door, a stillness to her features that couldn't be anything but hiding her true feelings.  
  


In those moments Dean squeezed Castiel's hand beneath the table harder.

 

Glinda did not arrive.

 

And soon Cas had to go.

 

“I am sorry,” he said, apologising for his absence, though from the gravity of his tone Dean knew he was apologising for something far larger. “I only have the half day.”

 

“Thank you Castiel, for coming.” Charlie said, her meaning too was greater than the words she spoke.  
  
  


Cas squeezed Dean's shoulder as he left, the only amount of affection he could gift him with.

 

Alone in the pub, Dean and Charlie sat. It was silent, once Cas had left Charlie slouched in her seat, as much as she could in her dress.  
  


 

They waited another half hour, but Glinda never came.

 

  
Dean reached over the table and took Charlie's hand, it was appropriate, she was his  fiancée \- they were barely afforded a glance.

 

He'd never be able to do that with Cas.

 

“I rather like him,” said Charlie gently.

 

Despite the situation a warmth spread through Dean's limbs. He wanted to say he was glad, he wanted to say Cas was everything to him, but he didn't and he couldn't, not when he caught the expression on Charlie's face. 

 

“I am so sorry Charlie.” he said.  


 

Charlie flexed her fingers, looked down and away.

 

“What are the odds of you two meeting, at the right place, at the right time?” she squeezed Dean's hand then let him go, sliding her hand back into her lap. “Enough to fall in love, and do it right.” 

 

“I don't know,” Dean said honestly, “But I suppose the odds for the two of us meeting are even smaller.”

 

“Small odds,” Charlie answered, “but most certainly in our favour.”

  
  
Dean smiled and wondered if the halo around Charlie's head as just a trick of the light.

 


	4. Timestamp #3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **1926:** While Dean is away honeymooning- Castiel sits alone in the servants hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeated/unedited/unread
> 
> I just wanted to get this up before I passed out from fatigue.
> 
> soupernabturel.tumblr.com

The past twelve hours had become an absolute blur.

 

The wedding of Dean Michael Winchester to Charlotte Evelyn Bradbury was nothing less than opulent. The entire estate had celebrated the young couple's union, lining the streets with smiles and shouts as Charlie's wedding carriage and ensemble guided her to the humble little church in Thirsk filled to the stained glass windows with even more guests. Half of the neighbouring estates, and several well travelled, and international guests were also in attendance.

 

Such guests were given residence at the Abbey, and the private reception afterward had also resided within the Winchesters walls, leaving the ancient, regency house full stocked. Dancing, gossip, toasts and cheers. Feasting and endless, endless wine consumption- it was a wonder the majority of the guests could still stand.

 

The sun had set more than several hours ago, Castiel's duties concluded. The wedding was acclaimed a success by both servants and attendants alike.

 

Castiel had thrown up several times during the reception, and once outside the church. He hadn't the desire (nor the opportunity) to eat anything, throat closed up too tight for the entire affair to hold back any sound (a sob, a whimper) that tried to escape.

 

The staff had been given leftovers for their own meals, and the servants hall was almost as bad as the upstairs. Garth took Bess around the floor, dancing clumsily whilst the upper tier and remaining staff watched in amusement. The younger staff got a bit giggly with the . Ellen got a bit teary reminiscing of Dean's younger years, but Robert Singer patted her hand, then wrapped his thick fingers over her own and squeezed.

 

Some time, Castiel could remember, Anna had nudged his side and offered him a glass of cider. She smoothed a hand over his hair when he took it wordlessly. He said nothing the whole time downstairs, making himself clear to the world that he did not wish to be spoken to. He was in shock really, and it was only just settling in- like sitting in a cool bath and not realising you were being boiled until the bubbles had already begun.

 

Eventually the days events pressed down on them all many of the house maids and hall boys were falling asleep in their seats (it could have been the brandy they'd managed to swipe from Miss Mills kitchen). Slowly, the part dispersed, everyone retired. Anna and Benny had been the last, playing several hands of cards until Benny had begun to lean forward across the table's edge, chin on his chest a steady persistent snore broke through him.

 

He and Anna both, were physically incapable of staying awake any longer.

 

"Walk me upstairs Castiel?" Anna asked, as Benny shuffled off to the males quarters, bidding a quiet goodnight.

 

Castiel shook his head.

 

He hadn't moved from his seat in several hours now, the room around him grew darker and darker until it was completely silent and pitch black. At some point his bottom lip started quivering. He clenched his jaw tight in an attempt to control himself- but it was a wasted effort.

 

Castiel's thoughts dancing in a dizzying pattern, and yet remained painfully still. They drifted back and forth, first to his childhood and then to his time on the front. At times glimpses of his life before the Abbey would come back to him, only adding to the unpleasantness of it all.

 

He'd known though, he'd know the whole time. Months ago now, how all of this was to turn out.

 

 _Oh Christ._ Castiel thought, head in his hands, elbows on the table. A sharp throbbing pain burst behind his chest. _Oh Christ- Lord help me._

 

His prayers didn't work, not when they had never worked before.

 

The thought of Dean married to another, of Dean on his marriage night with another was too much for Castiel to bare. It had become abundantly clear for the moment of Dean's proposal that his and Charlie's relationship would be a true one, one spent intimately as husband and wife.

  
Castiel tried to vanquish the thoughts of Dean laying naked with Charlie out of his mind. Tried to stop himself from imagining him atop of her, pert breasts up against his chest as their lips crashed against each other. Her legs would be spread- sex moist and she'd swallow him up with such ease that Dean would most assuredly drown within her. He'd be lost. Charlie would be too soft, like well-kneaded dough- she'd cover him, consume him-

 

Castiel wanted to cry.

 

He wanted to sever himself from his pain, his jealousy (for that was it, the thing that made him think of sweet, kind Charlie so maliciously)- Castiel wanted nothing to do with it, wanted to stay as far aware from such emotions as possible. He refused to ponder any further on Dean and Charlie in such a way.

 

In his experience sex with Dean had been an orgasmic release from years of built up tension and love. When they had made love (sodomy was such an ugly word) for the first time, Dean had spread Castiel out on expensive sheets as though he were a feast. Castiel had ached, until Dean had pressed himself into him, covering him all over. Castiel had delighted in it, and when Dean touched his cock he felt as though he was being worshiped like some golden idol.

 

_'Ooh Dean! Please!'_

 

Their first true lovemaking had ended with Castiel groaning into the pillows, his body singing with birdsong. He burned, his ass burned stretched to accommodate Dean's girth and through pounding, but still it was blissful- for the both of them.

 

No one had ever touched him but Dean. No one had ever touched Dean in such a manner, not before Castiel. They were equal in those respects- each each others only. But not any longer.

 

Dean could never have that with Charlie. Could never feel the same love, same delight in her arms- he could not be the one _receiving_ such gluttonous worship, Castiel's love. At most he'd be smothered.

 

There was a sound at the far end of the hall, and Castiel fell momentarily blinded after so long in darkness.

 

Bobby Singer stood in the entrance of the hall, the left side of his face illuminated by candle light. He wore his travelling coat over respectable white pyjamas. Appearing disgruntled (a common expression on the older man) he looked at Castiel from across the room, stepped forward and pulled up a seat at the table, placing the candle light between them.

 

"You're still up boy?" a question. 

 

Castiel realised he was still crying and quickly looked away. God only knew what Bobby thought of him now-

 

"Mr Singer..." Castiel croaked unable to utter much more.

 

"I wish I knew what to say," said Bobby, oddly gentle within the moment. It struck Castiel as being highly out of character for the gruff butler, but he said nothing- too nervous for what would come after.

 

Bobby reached up to smooth out his thinning hair. "The normal words of comfort would be to say that you will find yourself a wife of your own one day," he huffed, "But you are what you are boy, and you cannot change- no lovely woman can make you change and even if one could-"  

 

He ground down on his jaw- though he didn't seem mad, or even slightly annoyed, simply curmudgeonly. He opened his eyes once more and looked to Castiel firmly.

 

"And even if it could, you should not change. You are acceptable the way you are." 

 

And it was in that moment, as foolish and vulnerable as a child, that Castiel stuttered, his eyes burning rapidly "I uh..."  and then promptly collapsed into tears.

 

He could no more hold back his sobs then command the sky to fall. He wept in front of Bobby, the pain in his heart having swelled and was now bursting So distraught was he, that he barely had enough common sense to be ashamed by the outward display of emotion.

 

And when Bobby Singer stood to reach out and draw Castiel into his arms, Castiel felt the last of his self-control slip.

 

Bobby was warm and solid, a safe barrier between Castiel and everything else in the world.

 

So law abiding and respectful was Robert, that Castiel felt almost as though he were being embraced by society as a whole- that his pain, and yes his love were finally being acknowledged. As if the first time the barriers were down, and Castiel was just another man experience grief, and love and jealousy and heartbreak much the same as any other.

 

"These last few months has been trying Castiel," Bobby praised, albeit a little gruffly. "I am proud of you, you have done well." 

 

Castiel let out a particularly wet sound at that. "I'm sorry," he sniffed.

 

Bobby shushed him.

 

"There is no need for you to be." he said.

 

  
Castiel clung to him, to the affection he heard there, nestled in the folds. Much in the same way Castiel was nestled into Bobby's thin night shirt, face pressed tight to his large belly.

 

"Thank you." Castiel said after several long moments.  
  
  
Bobby nodded; a quiet gesture.

 

"You have much to do and discuss Castiel,"  Bobby said and Castiel knew it was true. "But none of that can be accomplished tonight. You will sleep-" an edge of an order crept into his voice. ' and what's needed we can do tomorrow. What's needed now is rest- tomorrow you can return to your duties, and De- _Lord_ Dean will be back before you will know what has happened."

 

He patted Castiel on the back with a heavy hand. They each drew away at the same time.

 

The candle was burning low. With some effort, Castiel pulled himself out of his chair and dragged himself to Bobby's side.

 

They walked in silence up to the men's quarters. Castiel attempting and failing in some respect to keep his target in reach. 

 

"Goodnight,"  Bobby offered at the path between their two rooms.

 

"Goodnight." 

Bobby nodded and trundled back up the hall his candle light bobbed, a bit like a lantern going further and further from shore.

 

Castiel's room was cold, dark when he entered- wherever Dean was, his room was probably warm, uncomfortable so depending on what he and his new wife were doing.

 

When the door closed behind him Castiel once again felt like he was being caged in prison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This particular scene has been in my mind since Beck and Call. I love writing Bobby and Cas in this verse, seriously I can't explain it.


	5. Timestamp #4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **1928: ******Almost a year after Castiel leaves service, Sam and Jessica become engaged and Castiel is invited to the estate to attend their engagement party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I am so sorry with how slow these updates are taking, but we're back into the right time now, no more flashbacks so there will finally be some forward momentum here while this story comes to its end._
> 
> _I want to thank everyone who's still with me on this, and I hope you enjoy this update (and the few more to come)._

When the plates from the most extravagant and equally awkward meal Castiel had ever had the misfortune in participating in had been cleared away, Castiel knew he was perhaps, possibly...a little bit drunk.

 

 _Tiddly_ \- he liked to think of it. Tiddly because no the room wasn’t spinning and he certainly did not find her ladyship the countess of Elderich at all sexually appealing- nor her husband for that matter (as many of the stories of drunkness portrayed one to feel). The count of Elderich was an entirely stout, short man with a trimmed beard, who looked and spoke as though he’d never worked an honest day in his life. This was made only the more apparent by his abysmal attitude towards Castiel, the only ‘middle class’ citizen at the engagement celebration of Samuel Winchester and Miss Jessica Moore. And he was not the only attendee to treat Castiel as both the curiosity and stain on the evening.

 

Castiel was struck by the nature of his own _tiddly_ state when they ladies and men were separated for after dinner conversation. The thought of it; the men being ushered into the drawing room, the women into the settee almost made Castiel snort aloud, in a way the prastice had never made him feel before.

 

A mere ten months outside of the cloying atmosphere of the Abbey and Castiel had already had his eyes opened dramatically. The archaic ways of the upper class no longer held the same rose-tinted nostalgia Castiel once believed they did. Their practices were now dated (why should men and women not socialise after a meal?), traditional in the worst way. The world of the estate from the outside in seemed, in a way, designed to encourage indulgence and frivolity and little of anything else.

  
Scrubbing a hand over his face, Castiel obediently followed the men into the drawing room, three times as large as Castiel's single apartment in Liverpool.

 

He knew his alcohol tolerance was far from up to par, certainly when considered to the scotch drinking men about him. To stabilise himself, Castiel walked a little ways from the crowd, intent on finding a manner in which to clear his head in privacy.

 

“Water, Novak?” asked Benjamin Laffiette, dressed in a livery instead of his usually impeccable suit. It seemed Robert Singer had pulled no stops in getting even the valets to serve this party.

 

“My god, thank you,” gasped Castiel. At least he still had the sense to lower his voice when he spoke to Benny, “how have you been Benny?”

 

Even whilst living at working at the Abbey Castiel had barely called the other man by his Christian name, let alone by ‘Benny’. He was somewhat more affected by the alcohol than he first thought, and sought to look about the room for a place to sequester himself until it's effects lessened.

 

Or until Dean arrived.

 

Benny smiled but his quick glance around the room told Castiel that he did not desire to speak of himself at the current moment. Castiel knew about that feeling all too well.

 

“I thought it might interest you to learn that Dean sent a telegram earlier, to inform his brother of his lateness,” said Benny lowly. “He should be arriving soon.”

 

“He could not come a minute sooner.” Castiel thought, and only realised he’d spoken aloud, by Benny’s secretive smile. “Benny am I- do I appear…inebriated?”

 

  
“You certainly seem to be enjoying yourself.” Benny teased.

 

  
“Not at all.”  Castiel said, deflating a little. “I wish Dean were here.”

 

“The higher class are not engaging enough companions?”

 

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Oh no they’re _delightful_ -”

 

As though summoned, the two men's reunion was impeded upon by a readily approaching man.

 

 **“Mr Novak!”**  

 

  
“Shit.” said Castiel indelicately (Benny stifled a laugh). Grimacing he turned around to greet Mr Bently. “Mr Bently-”

 

  
Mr Bently was a tall man, with puffy cheeks and an even puffier belly so the hard white shirt-front of his suit protruded outward. Castiel pitied the Valet that had to of helped him into the get up and then pitied himself for being company to him. Now, Castiel was certainly not the kind of person to judge another on their appearance, yet the man was insufferable, he was what the upper class referred to as ‘new money’ a man who made his own way up to richest tiers of society and as such, acted as though his owned the world.

 

And to make it worse, Mr Bently had done so through journalism.

 

If gossip mags about the upper class and fear mongering could be considered ‘journalism’.

 

“Fancy a game?” Mr Bently asked with a wry smile. “I hear Larry is quite the card shark.”

 

Cards, gambling. Castiel could not even contemplate parting with his little money is such a fashion. “Oh no- I couldn’t-”

  
Bently slapped him on the back, making Castiel splutter and jolt forward. “Oh lighten up boy, I’ll cover your pay-’

 

"It wouldn’t be proper," Castiel tried to insist.

 

“Come now Novak, it's not all that strange, nor improper any longer for you to sit in for a game.”

 

Castiel had to stop himself from adverting his eyes and bowing low when the Earl; John Winchester spoke to him.

 

“Improper?” Bently asked, intrigued.

  
  
Having been taking to the drink himself, Johnathan Winchester didn’t seem to mind, divulging information to the reporter. “Novak once worked for us,” he explained. “He was a footman here for- god what would it have to be ten years? Then became my eldest son’s valet.” John Winchester smiled, face a little flushed. “What is it you are doing now Novak?”

 

Castiel smoothed down his shirt front, feeling as though he was infinitely untidy. “A-a-uh- a teacher My lord.”

 

He ducked his head, shamed by his own inability to properly present himself. Of just how out of sorts John Winchester made him.

 

Had had very few reasons to like the man, but all the more ingrained within him since childhood to treat the Earl like royalty. It was very hard to break such bonds, no matter Castiel's own personal feelings.

 

“ _My lord_ \- that’s precious.” Bently laughed, slapping Castiel again. “That’s grand isn't it? A man in service, making his way out into the world. A real twentieth-century story. Bravo.”

 

The congratulations couldn’t have felt more condescending.

 

Benny shifted his grip on his tray uncomfortably.

 

“Thank you.” Castiel said and was saved from speaking anything more with the appearance of the man of the hour himself.

 

  
“Father?” Samuel Winchester said, “I think mother’s calling for you in the dining room.”

 

  
Castiel could have kissed the youngest Winchester then.

 

Without barely any further acknowledgement of Castiel, John Winchester made his excuses and went in search of his wife.

 

Somethings within the Abbey would never change.

 

Castiel watched as Sam winced when Bently’s hand connected harshly between his shoulder blades. “Samuel! Once again congratulations-”

 

“Thank you Mr Bently,” Sam gasped out, rolling his shoulder in an uncomfortable manner.

 

"Will you play a hand Samuel?"

 

"Oh no. I don't have enough luck to spare for cards."

 

"A wise move." "Especially for the newly wed, best keep the new wife happy at least until after the honeymoon."

 

Sam looked increasingly uncomfortable but he nodded all the same. “Yes you're right. Mr Bently, If you will I’m sure our man here, Laffitte here can help guide you to your seat by the table. I hear they're about to begin.”

 

Benny allowed for no opinion on the request to show on his face. But Castiel knew, perhaps later downstairs with the rest of the staff (with the absence of Bobby) he’d be good-naturedly cursing the young lord for placing him in that predicament.

 

If Bently was aware of the obvious dismissal he did not show it.

 

“Yes, yes come along.” Bently said to Benny and then he let out a great chortle.  
  
  
  
"Just through here sir." Said Benny, casting one last look to Castiel before he led the man onwards.

 

The two left the room, following the last straggling gentlemen to the card tables in the other room.

 

“If I had the power to do so I would smite that man,” murmured Castiel.

 

“Who?” Sam smirked, “Bently? He's harmless.”

  
  
“No. Your father.”

 

Sam’s smirk shifted a little. He was aware of the feelings Castiel held for the Earl, resentment for the expectation and obligation he placed on Dean, how (in the past) he’d treated both boys (or rather, not treated them). It was a sore spot for the three of them, better left undisturbed so Sam let the comment slide.

 

He looked about the room with the distinct air of someone in need of a drink. “Jess and I know barely any of the people here" he admitted quietly. "It’s all, father’s friends and mothers committee members.” Sam cast his eyes to Cas, and gave him a soft, understanding smile. “It’s alright Cas if you want to go, Jess nor I would hold it against you.”

 

“Dean isn’t here yet,” said Castiel.

 

Sam nodded. “He has missed you quite a bit, and with Melissa teething, and growing like damned weed in a garden-” he laughed a little at that. And at the mention of Melissa, Dean’s daughter, Castiel’s heart softened. “He’s told me of your new work in Liverpool from your letters, it sounds golden Cas, a real fresh start.”

 

“I’m trying for it to be,” said Castiel.

 

Sam clasped his shoulder in a friendly grip, giving the muscle a small squeeze. “It would be hard I suppose, having something that’s always pulling you back here.”

 

It was odd, that right then, that _something_ chose to enter the room.

 

“I miss dinner and already you’ve got your hands on my man?” smirked Dean.

 

“Dean!” Castiel barked. He whirled about the room looking to see if anyone had overheard.

  
All the men had retreated to the poker tables, it was only himself, Sam and Dean in the room.

 

Sam gave a laugh, yet took a step back from Castiel all the same.

 

Dean walked toward them and then pulled his younger brother into an (improper) hug.

 

“Sammy- so sorry we’re late, bloody car broke down off the road and then Charlie was worried about Missy.”

 

Ten months it had been since he’d seen his lover.

 

Ten months since Castiel had been able to hold him. Kiss him.

 

“Evening Cas.”

 

Oh god how he wanted to kiss him.

 

Castiel felt he might burst from how delighted he was to see Dean. Parenthood had been kind to the lord, his face had grown firmer, the cut of his jaw sharper. He looked a little more weathered, but not unhealthily so. Age had naturally deepened the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, some of his more defined muscles were already beginning to soften. Something that age, from years or months could not effect, was the tender look in his eye, as he smiled gazing at Castiel.

 

“Hello Dean.” Castiel said. It was remarkable really how his voice was betraying nothing of the frantic beating of his heart, so hard he was sure the two Winchesters could hear it.

 

“It’s good of you to come Dean, though this just proves the point that you should hire a nanny-”

  
Dean’s answering eye roll was childlike- though his disapproving groan did something delightful to Castiel’s insides. “I do not want some paid stranger raising my child,” Dean said and so the conversation dived into lively debate.

  
  
Though usually Castiel took a great interest in the goings on in Melissa’s life- his mind was one track that evening, that track being that he had not seen Dean in so long, and desperately, every cell of his being was crying out to be alone with the man.

  
It was very hard to focus on what was being said when Castiel had to put in the effort to look Dean in the eye. A greeting kiss was not suitable in the present company and time, something Castiel cursed.

 

His need was so dire Castiel didn’t even realise he was swayed into Dean’s space, shoulder pressed to shoulder, until Sam stopped speaking and looked at the two of them.

 

Dean as well turned to give Castiel a questioning look- which instantly shifted. Perhaps Dean felt the same as Castiel- for his eyes were on Castiel’s lips, then his eyes then his lips again.

 

The attention made Castiel smile.

 

“Dean,” he whispered. “The saddle room?”

 

Dean broke out into a loving grin. “That’s sly, planning to sneak away from the party.”

 

Castiel gave him a tips smile, and pressed their shoulders together more firmly.

 

“Oh Lord no,” Sam began, “The both of you can’t leave me with that lot. Cas-”

 

But Castiel was already heading outside.

 

Offering an apology to his brother, Dean waited a moment then quickly followed.

 

oOo

 

Outside the night sky was just starting to turn, dotting’s of stars lit up the night sky, offering some minimal light- at least giving Dean the gift of being able to see the ground and his hand right in front of him. Walking about in the dark garden, Dean looked back toward the Abbey, remembering a time when he was a boy that there had been no electricity to light her windows at this hour, only candle light. The thought sent a bit of a pang through him- for how much time had passed, for how much had changed in such a few short years.

 

He looked to the right, to the vacant stretching woods- Castiel and he were alone.

 

Castiel had also managed to travel out of Dean’s immediate sight, a smart trick, even for the man who had grown up on this land, who knew all its grooves and secrets.

 

“Cas?" Dean called, not to loud lest anyone from inside hear him. "Castiel?”

 

A hand slipped around Dean’s waist from behind and drew him into a solid chest. He would have jumped back, fought back- but the touch of Castiel was so familiar to him now he thought he may be able to tell of the others man's presence just by a certain humming in the air.

 

“Hush.” Castiel whispered as Dean turned around in his arms. “Someone might hear you.”

 

Dean grinned and in the dark, pressed their lips together, hands sliding around Castiel’s shoulders. He lost himself in the kiss at once, eyes closed. Castiel tasted of scotch, roast lamb, and the wine that undoubtedly accompanied the feast for Sam and Jessica's celebration.

 

When they pulled away from each other, Castiel sighed over Dean’s lips.

 

“You’ve been drinking,” Dean chuckled. He grabbed Castiel’s hand and tugged him away, further from the Abbey, following the familiar path down to the stables.

 

“I’m a little tiddly I admit.” Castiel said.

 

Dean wasn’t all that surprised. Castiel got extremely affectionate with alcohol (when he wasn’t feeling somber). Though it hindered their walking Dean enjoyed the feel of Castiel snuggling into the warm dip beneath his jaw, nuzzling his Adam’s apple.

 

“Tiddly?”

 

Castiel nodded and placed a searing kiss to Dean’s throat, chin and then (with a slight misstep, the corner of his mouth). Dean felt joyous to be so close to after what felt like forever. Castiel was happy with the reunion as well, if the huge smiled and deep crinkles along both sides of his nose, and eyes were anything to go by.

 

Their snugness and closeness was such a treat, which was why it was all too abrupt when Castiel’s pulled back, releasing Dean completely.

 

“Chase?” he said.

  
  
Dean blinked, confused.

  
  
“What?”

  
  
“I chase you to the stables.” Castiel offered. He leaned in close to whisper in Dean’s ear, lips brushing the shell like small kisses. “If I catch you I make love to you. If you outrun me, you make love to me.”

 

Dean felt the color of his cheeks deepen. He grabbed the buttons of Castiel’s shirt front, dragging him forward. This time they kissed slowly. Dean felt the heat of Castiel’s breath in his mouth. Their kisses were gentle, the sounds he made soothing ripples that warmed Dean all over.

 

But before Dean could truly sink into the kiss Castiel’s hands were on his chest and pushed him away, making a mad dash for the stables. Dean was shocked for all but a moment, before he laughed and pounded after him.

 

They zipped across the courtyard, ducking down into the garden. The chill night air stung against Dean’s face and eyes as he chased Castiel down through the grass and onto the loose stone path.

 

He could see Cas up ahead, pry open the stable door with practiced ease, before slipping inside. Dean forced himself faster, legs burning he slipped through the door before it shut and he was plunged into darkness.

 

The stable was cool, heat from earlier in the day having been trapped inside the stone and wooden shelter was ebbing.

 

Dean barely had a moment to collect his thoughts until his mouth was filled with Castiel’s tongue, wet and hungry. Dean fell into the wave of the unexpected bliss taking a little more control he crowded Castiel up against the barn wall.  It didn’t take long for him to feel Castiel’s hand inside of his suit (infinitely glad Dean had worn black tie instead of white).

 

Dean hardened without conscious awareness, all caught up in Castiel’s tongue swept against his own, the soft sounds of his exhaling. When Dean pressed against Castiel fully, fingers against his warmer cheek Castiel gasped into the kiss.

 

Dean’s heart was thumping hard when he opened his eyes, Castiel reciprocated, lips parted, blue eyes bright even in the darkness around them.

 

“Oh,” Castiel said, his breath tumbling out. “Dean-”

 

“Ten months,” Dean said, his eyes tipped to Castiel’s lips, then met his gaze again. “Letters just aren’t the same Cas.”

 

Castiel captured his lips in a kiss, sliding his hand to grasp Dean’s. Their noses bumped together with the force of it. Dean drew back and frowned. Cas laughed and then surged forward eyes alight with a fireplace’s heat.

 

“I’ve missed you,” He held the back of Dean’s neck, hands a little warmed against his skin.

 

Dean pulled him into a tight, tight hug and Castiel curled into him, which made Dean’s chest ache a a surprising amount of upset. He wanted to hold and be held like this every day, yet never wanted for it to be this desperate kind of ‘I miss you’.

 

“I’ve missed you so bad sometimes I feel like my heart will stop, that my mind will drain out of me.”

 

“Me as well.” Castiel said, kissing Dean’s throat. He nipped and licked at the skin there a little, leading down to the neckline of the dress shirt Dean wore. His fingers shifted to Dean’s tie, loosening it. “I’ve thought of you so much.”

 

“Cas-” Dean said, trying to focus around the heat that was building in him. He put his hands on Castiel’s wrists when he made move to undo his buttons. “I know you said that you’d like to- we’d-”

 

“But we could be caught.” Cas said, he dropped his hands down to Dean’s waist. “Yes It was silly of me to ever suggest it.”

 

Dean nodded, closing his eyes for a moment, so he could take a few deep breaths. “I wish we have weeks to spend together not days. When are you bound back for Liverpool?”

 

“I have a train ticket for home Monday. I’m staying at the Coated Arms, till then.”

 

That was a bit of a blow. Dean pressed back against the wall. “A day. A single day.”

 

“I have to get back to my students,” Cas explained. “They need me.”

_I need you._ Dean thought, swallowing the words down before they could escape.

 

“It’s alright,” he said, smoothing a hand down Cas’ arm. “We shouldn’t waste any time then.”

 

Castiel grinned and grabbed Dean by the jaw, pulling him into another kiss. In answer, Dean threaded his fingers through Cas’ hair and licked deep into his mouth. His cock stirred with interest as they both lowered down to the floor, holding each other.

 

The straw and the feel of Cas against him was so familiar Dean bit back a moan as their bodies fitted together with years of familiarity. He sunk his teeth into the juncture between Cas’ neck and shoulder, sucking a bruise into the skin as they each worked furiously on removing their clothes. Cas shuddered shifting so their chests and hips were flush. Dean could feel him getting hard against him, and no matter how may years, how many nights had passed- the sensation still took Dean’s breath away.

 

He slipped his hands up under Cas’ jacket and shirt, stroking softly at the defined muscles in his back, and up around his chest so he could shirk the offending garments to the floor.

 

With none of a Valet’s flare, Castiel pulled Dean’s shirt and jacket off too, and laid them out on the straw, he smoothed his hand up Dean’s chest, making it swell, and kissed down down down-

 

It was sometime much later, breathing heavily with straw sticking to his sweaty and release soaked skin, that Castiel’s back curled over Dean and he hunched against him, crying out. Dean’s hand on his cock only working him through his orgasm with soft gentle touches to the sensitive head, brushing downward.

 

Castiel hushed out garbled words, some things that sounded like Dean’s name, promises and curses, blinded by his pleasure.

 

In the aftermath they lay together in the straw, looking up at the cob-webbed ceiling, sticky bodies aligned.

 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Dean asked once he had the mind to do so.

 

“I’ve always wondered why you have such illustrious stables,” Castiel said, eyes sliding over to Dean. “But never any horses.”

 

Dean snorted his laugh and then choked on it. Cackling he spread one arm out and drew Cas even closer into his side, muffling his laughter into the crown of Castiel’s dark un-pomade hair.

 

Cas was smiling across at him, he pressed such a smile into Dean’s skin.

 

“So much happens in the time we’re apart, I have so any thoughts and so many things I think of I’d like to tell you.” He spoke quietly, the words mostly made of his own breath, “I’ve written you letters.”

 

“Yes.” Dean said, because of course he’d received them.

 

“Some I’ve never sent.” Cas amended.

 

Dean understood. “I’ve burnt some of the ones I’d like to send you.” He said.

 

“I think gahh!!” Cas rolled up onto his side but froze half way through, he grimaced, letting out a gasp and pulled from beneath him a particularly large stone. Rubbing his side he tossed it away. “How that hurt.”

 

“We’re getting old Cas.” Dean smirked.

 

Castiel cast him a mild glare. “Twenty nine is not that old Dean.”

 

“It is when I can still picture you as you were at fourteen,” Dean closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to Castiel’s. He could see Cas- the both of them way back then, Cas with soot and dirt on his face, hand always grubby and full of something. His cloth cap pulled almost entirely over his bright sea-blue eyes.

 

Those eyes were looking at him now, the face they belonged to more weathered, sharper and with a darker tan, but none-the-less beautiful.

 

“And each passing year creeps up a little faster than the last.” said Dean. He looked across at Cas, and became awash with emotions of every sort; joy, longing, relief, fear. Castiel had a cautious smile on his lips and half-lidded eyes. He tipped his head to one side pressing their noses together. Dean pressed in close and chuckled, realizing his eyes were a little wet.

 

“It will be Melissa’s first birthday soon won’t it?” Castiel whispered. “I’d like to see her before I leave.”

 

“Course Cas.” Dean said smiling. His heart did a silly flip in his chest every time he saw Cas and Missy together.

 

She had grown so big now, he just hoped they still loved each other.

 

“We need to make ourselves presentable.” Cas said. “Anyone could find us like this.”

 

Closing his eyes Dean breathe out against Castiel’s cheek.

 

“Just a moment.” He said. He pressed his grin to Castiel’s shoulder, resting his nose on the warm dip between neck and shoulder. Cas smelled like clothes cupboards, cinnamon and the Abbey.

  
Whispering he breathed against Cas’ ear. “I love you.”

 

“And I you.”  


They helped each other off the floor, and with gentle hands and lingering touches set about making each other appear respectable.

                                                                                                                               


	6. Timestamp #5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **1932: ******In the midst of the Great Depression, Castiel meets his future fiancée under less than auspicious circumstances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _For those few people who may be freaking out about Meg being Cas' fiancée, rest assured, it is purely and utterly platonic. For the time that they met and what was going on in the world, their engagement was more of necessity and for companionship/security more than anything else._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Cas and Meg become close friends in this fic (if you haven't already figured it out from **By Your Side** ) Meg becomes an accepted and genuine part of Castiel's life, they remain engaged until... well... spoilers, but relax, this is not a Meg/Cas fic, in fact the two of them never even marry for reasons that will be revealed in due course. ___

Castiel spotted the pickpocket right away. She was already winding her way through the crowded street, pausing for a moment to look about, hands buried protectively in her jacket pockets, before ducked into an alleyway out of sight.

 

Castiel sped up his pace, fixed the image of the culprit in his eyes, she had haphazardly bobbed hair, dark brown with straight bangs and a deep blue dress completely out of sorts with the weather. She was certainly not conspicuous which made her thievery all the more peculiar.

 

Castiel had felt her hand reach into his pocket in the crowd, felt the loss of weight signalling his wallet’s disappearance. He’d felt her take it, seen it, and now was a desperate time, dark and he needed the contents of that wallet more than ever.

 

He caught her in the blocked off alleyway, a little disgruntled to find that the woman was leaning against the wall, skirt hiked up to show off creamy white thighs through holey stockings, as though she was waiting for him.

 

“Well,” she smirked, white teeth lined by painted lips. A striking contrast to her round face and dark eyes. She turned herself and made direct eye contact with Castiel. “I don’t know if it’s flattery to chase a girl but you sure know how to pay attention blue eyes.”

 

“Give it to me.” Castiel ordered, hoping his advance after her was enough to entice compliance.

 

“I don’t know what you’re-”

 

“My wallet you just stole,” Castiel didn’t know why he referred to himself in such a way, but the phrasing seemed to have the desired effect, as something in the woman’s expression shifted. He stretched out his hand and met her gaze, dead-set.

 

“I want it back.”

  
  
A smirk stretched over raunchy red lips. “You’re quick,” said the woman, but made no move to give back Castiel’s rightful property. “Maybe we can settle this without the bobs being called in.”

 

It was a testament to how quick she moved that she was right in front of Castiel with barely any space between them before Castiel could even blink.

 

Flawlessly she raised one hand up and trailed it thorough his hair, under his hat, before smoothing her palm down the side of his face, cupping the sharp cut of his jaw.

 

Her touch was cold. Castiel shivered.

 

“What’s your name sugar?” she asked.

 

A little astounded and quite a bit taken aback by the overly _overly_ friendly touch Castiel answered. “Castiel.”

 

“Hmm,” finger on his jaw, her other hand taking his waist, pressing up and under his shirt and suspenders, cool fingers, burying into the warmth of his side. “What say we take this somewhere more private _Cas-ti-el_ ,” she purred. Deft fingers palmed his hip. “And you and I can sort this out.”

 

Castiel was shocked beyond recognition, his mind still having not caught up to the current proceedings. “I am not-”

 

His next words died in his throat as the hand on his face moved down to his waist, before sliding across, down a little, to touch him right through his slacks.

 

“Ooh what’s this?” the woman whispered coyly, flexing her fingers.

 

Castiel’s stomach clenched. He didn’t sound like himself when he said; “D-don’t-”

 

“Problem sugar?” the woman asked, pressing her body all up against him, she smelt of tobacco and the outside. Her breath was hot and warm on his face.  “You got a wife? A sweetheart?”

 

“Y- _yes_.”

 

She hummed thoughtfully, “That shouldn’t stop this bad boy from working though right?” and palmed his crotch with greater intent.

 

Objectively, it was nice, because well… male genitalia being what it was; any attention to that particular region could biologically be considered _nice_ and it had been so long since Castiel had been close to another person like this, months since he had been able to see Dean. But every other part of Castiel shrunk away from the touch, and he acted out of instinct more than anything else, he didn’t want to actually _hurt_ the poor girl.

 

“Stop.” He grabbed the woman’s wrist and wrenched her hand away from him. In an attempt to get some distance between them he cast her aside more roughly than intended, shoving her across the Alley.

 

 _“I know what you are_.” He spat, disgusted, as echoes of a woman he once knew, with a forked snakes tongue and ruthless words permeated his mind. He barely registered the new woman now, stumbling back, catching herself on the wall opposite.

 

She made the slightest of sounds an ‘oof’ when her back connected with the stone wall, and instantly the red bled from Castiel’s vision.  All at once he was looking at a woman, a young girl really, pressed back against the wall, her wide eyes staring at him the only thing about her that revealed some sort of emotion akin to fear but more subdued that that. Resigned.

 

She had possibly been shoved about by a lot of men in her merger twenty, twenty-one years.

  
  
The vulnerability was gone almost as soon as it came.

 

  
“You know what I am do you?” It wasn’t a question, but a statement uttered low. She sniffed, smoothing down the front of her skirt, adjusting the crinkled front of her blouse. She pushed off from the wall, reached into the tattered jacket. Castiel only just managed to catch his wallet out of the air when she threw it to him.

 

Derision dripped like blood from her words. “Here, _Castiel_ , knock yourself out.”

 

And then she left, heels clicking against the pavement.

 

Numbly, Castiel pried open his wallet to find all his money, his various identifications, and Mellissa’s school photo from her seventh year all still in place, barely even touched.

 

He watched the woman reach the mouth of the alley, and instead of turning down either street, she leant back against the corner wall and struck up a cigarette with shaking hands. It took her a few tries to get it to light.

 

It was then that he noticed her clothes, beyond the make-up and beneath the sexual aggression. Her stockings filled with runs and rips, the sole of one shoe already coming apart. The jacket she wore was at least a size too small in the sleeves and riddles with mouse-bitten holes and dirt. The only intact piece of clothing she wore was her dress and even then it was fraying, grimy and unclean. She had probably been on the streets for weeks, maybe longer, trying to do anything for a little money, her profession- like all in this economy, suffering and any real money drying up.

 

The only way Castiel had been able to survive as he was, was because he’d managed to maintain at least part-time employment at the school and that every other fortnight he received (frankly a ridiculous given the circumstances) amount of money in the mail from a loving man who seemed hell-bent on driving Castiel to a comfortable and luxurious grave.

  
“Miss-” Castiel found himself walking forward, his wallet once more tucked into his slacks as he approached her. “Wait. Where will you be staying tonight?”

 

The woman cast him a look over her shoulder, smoke curled from her lips. She took a deep inhale, so much so that the end of her cigarette smouldered red hot as it ate itself up.

 

Castiel stopped a few paces away from her out of respect.

 

She didn’t answer his question, so he tried another. “Miss, what may I call you?”

 

“Call me Dolly,” said the woman, with an air that suggested that she was lying.

  
“Is that your real name?”

 

Dolly’s eyes narrowed. She regarded Castiel as if he were a particularly annoying bug that had crawled up on the wall beside her.

 

“Look,” she said, throwing the already filter-burning cigarette down on the ground. She stamped on it with a crushing foot, the same brut force undercutting her words, “I don’t need some impotent-john climbing up on my back okay?”

 

Castiel hardly thought it was fair for her to assume he was impotent from one brief (and unencouraged) grope in an alleyway, but that was beside the point.

 

“I am not a ‘Do-gooder,” said Castiel.  “I just...” he searched for the right words to say, words that would not belittle or better yet enrage her. Though he’d gotten the upper hand on her before, shoving her away, she seemed like the kind of woman who could hold her own, and would stoop to some unfavourable tactics to get her way.

 

Castiel dragged his numb fingers out of his pockets and gestured all around them. “It is winter, the weather won’t be picking up any tonight, that jacket is barely together-” Dolly scowled a little at that, offended, but Castiel pushed on. “I thought, you may enjoy a hot meal, perhaps some place to spend the evening warm and-” _safe_. He thought, but didn’t say aloud.

 

Dolly sighed and took two steps forward. “Look, buddy I’ve rifled in your wallet alright? You can’t afford me for a full night.”

  
  
Castiel shook his head. “I’m not propositioning you,” Dolly’s thin eyebrows actually rose at that, “and I certainly do not care what you get up to on the streets, or anywhere else, but I consider it a manner of human decency not to let you freeze to death. I have enough to offer you that.”

 

Dolly stared at him. Castiel stared back.

 

Dolly bit her lower lip in thought. “Not interested in me huh?” she asked.

 

In answer Castiel shrugged off his own tweed jacket, took two slow, deliberate steps to bridge the gap between them and handed it to her.

 

Dolly took the jacket without question, pulling it up and over her own. She looked somewhat ridiculous, and Castiel mused that this was the one and only time in his life he’d ever offered his jacket to a lady (however questionable).

 

“There is a pub near-by and I haven’t eaten,” Castiel told her, digging his freezing hands, back into his pockets. The winter air was unforgiving, but with his undershirt, long sleeves and scarf Castiel figured he could make it last at least until he was inside the Liverpool Shanty, propped up next to the fire with warm food to fill his belly.

 

“Consider this a formal invitation to accompany me for dinner.” He said then quickly added. “I have no interest in- in your services, just… company.”

 

Dolly quirked one brow at him, her hands folded over her chest, what skin Castiel’s open jacket had been unable to over, the overly large sleeves across her arms did the rest.

 

“Sounds like you’re awful lonesome Castiel,” she said.

 

Castiel shrugged. There was some truth in it.

 

Dolly looked him over in silence. Her eyes searching over his frame. And Castiel pretended not to notice the way she tilted her head to the side and nuzzled the thick collar into her cheek.

 

“Megara,” she said eventually. Eyes like a wary cat, fixed on Castiel as though daring him to do something heinous with the information. “Fellas call me Meg.”

 

A small smile found its way to Castiel’s lips. Megara, from mythology. “Not Dolly?” he asked her, trying to fight the beginnings of his gummy grin.

 

The corners of Megara's lips kicked up in a devilish smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are very much appreciated!
> 
> soupernabturel.tumblr.com


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